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Alice of multi-colored hair 
I’ve watched you grow 
from Gothic Red 
to California Blonde 
from Japanimae Purple 
to Raver Blue 
from Babushka Brown 
to Betty-Boop Black. 

You candied your hair 
like you candied your nose. 
Many a night, I watched you 
cut coke, or candyflip on acid and 
ecstasy. 

Watching you cut up a full moon, 
you complain to me about your 
bi-sexual boyfriend, who likes your ass, 
more than your bust, which I strained to 
refrain from LOOking at, until you 
jokingly mocked my attempt me by squeezing them 
and calling them microwaved peas! 

Your body was Barbie doll plastic, 
hollowed out from your 
Rave Weight Loss Program: 
dancing ‘till dawn on amphetamines. 

You act like a drag queen, 
who’s fairy godmother blessed him 
with the perfect female body. 

If Mattel had made you, 
you’d be “Acid-Raver Barbie” 
you’d come packaged complete with a 
Bump-o-Matic coke dispenser, 
and a queer boyfriend turned strait. 

I’ve watched you cut up coke 
like you cut through men, 
sniffing them up and moving 
onto the next—bump. 

But now you’re confiding in me, 
how your Jessie drives you mad, 
and I watch you mask your anger, 
with a new set of drugs. 

Instead of snort, you now smoke 
your fears away.  And my girlfriend laughs, 
at how for once in your life, 
you almost look human, 
from all the weight that you’ve gained. 

You left a few years back, 
with nothing but the coke on your back. 
Last I heard you’re in ‘Frisco with 
Jessie, boyfriend of 4 years, 
feeling alone and insecure, 
hollowed out from years of 
purging, but still I sit and wonder: 

What color is your hair now? 
  

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